


soixante-neuf

by sadbutchhours



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Bad Jokes, Dirty Jokes, F/F, sadbutchhours is secretly twelve years old, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28053588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadbutchhours/pseuds/sadbutchhours
Summary: literally just a shitty 69 joke, backed up by canon. you’re welcome, and i’m sorry.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 17
Kudos: 54





	soixante-neuf

**Author's Note:**

> set during episode 2 right before they get in the car. if you’d like you can think of this as a prologue to my other piece “shadowboxing in the dark,” but at the same time this is such a shitty idea that i kind of want to post it and NEVER think about it again

“Is that your car, right there?”

The nurse follows Gwendolyn’s outstretched hand and finger with her eyes. “The turquoise one?”

“Turquoise,” Gwendolyn repeats. “It’s a beautiful color.”

Mildred blushes, fumbles for a moment like she doesn’t quite know what to do with that compliment. “It matches the uniforms here,” she says, as if that’s an explanation. It’s a stupid statement, really, something a child would say.

Gwendolyn laughs, and she’s only more angry at that. “I just noticed the, erm. The license number.”

“5D-69-E1,” she recites automatically.

Gwendolyn gapes at her. “You’ve got it memorized,” she says in awe.

“It’s six characters.” Mildred’s voice is sharp, just the way she likes it. She needs a bit of control back. “What’s so special about it?”

Now Gwendolyn’s the one blushing, and she also looks like she’s holding back a laugh. “The, ah, the middle two?”

“Six-nine?”

Gwendolyn nods. “It’s silly, really. I’m sorry,” she adds, noticing Mildred’s disgusted expression. “That’s very immature of me.”

“What is?”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, God. Do you not know?”

“Know what?” Mildred snaps. She feels like she’s eleven years old, being taunted by older kids in the schoolyard, and she despises it.

“Jesus,” Gwendolyn breathes, shaking her head. “I have to -- _explain_ this to you now. God. Okay.”

She makes a few gestures with her hands, not really representing anything in particular, and then takes a deep breath. “It’s -- when you look at the numbers six and nine, and think of the circles as heads, it’s…”

“A person doing cartwheels?” Mildred asks.

Gwendolyn looks like she’s about to die from embarrassment. “Oh, no. No, Mildred, it’s -- it’s meant to be two people.” She gives Mildred a meaningful look. When Mildred doesn’t understand, she clasps her hands in front of her.

“They’re… orally pleasuring each other, Mildred.”

It takes a moment, and then the pieces fit together in Mildred’s brain and her whole body is hot and uncomfortable. The confusion is gone, but the frustration is there, and now it’s just plain old anger, burning hotter and hotter with every inhale and exhale.

She tamps it down the way she always has, already thinking of a million tiny ways of revenge for this miniature public humiliation. She looks at Gwendolyn through her sunglasses, says, “You’re right, Miss Briggs. How _very_ immature of you.”

Gwendolyn has the gall to _smile_ at that, but at least she also has the decency to look a little sheepish. “I’m sorry,” she says. “If I’d known you didn’t know I wouldn’t have…”

“Well, I didn’t know,” she hisses. “And neither did you, and you did. So that’s that.”

Gwendolyn stares at her, blinks twice, and then points off in the direction of her own car. “Mine’s over there,” she says, because she doesn’t know what else to say.

“18-43-W7?” Mildred asks, reading off the numbers of the car she saw Gwendolyn arrive in. 

(Not that she was looking particularly hard, mind you.)

“It’s the dark blue one,” Gwendolyn responds, a little confused.

“Yes,” says Mildred, satisfied that she’s put Gwendolyn in her place for now. “You don’t know your own license number?”

“I’ve never needed it,” she says, and Mildred’s lips curl up in that smirk she’s perfected.

“It’s six digits,” she reminds her as they make their way to the vehicle. “Useful for if you ever get into trouble.”

Gwendolyn’s eyes flicker with something Mildred doesn’t recognize. She opens the door for Mildred, and as she slides in Gwendolyn lingers at her side.

“Do you… find yourself getting into trouble often, Miss Ratched?”

Mildred doesn’t break her stare. “That seems like a rather personal question.”

Gwendolyn smiles, seems to let the matter go for now, pushing herself off the car door and closing it once she’s sure Mildred is inside. 

Several minutes later, they’re on the road and sitting in a silence that is only slightly uncomfortable. Mildred opens her mouth a few times, closes it, and then, because she feels so strangely _safe_ with Gwendolyn, works up the courage to ask:

“How would that even _work?_ ”

Gwendolyn pauses, then laughs when she realizes what Mildred’s referring to. “I don’t know, Mildred,” she laughs. “I really don’t know.”

**Author's Note:**

> IT’S TRUE! go back and rewatch ep 1 if you don't believe me. i wouldn't have written this if mildred’s car did not ACTUALLY say 69 on it. 
> 
> gwendolyn’s plate is factually correct as well, it’s just not as funny. i was really hoping it would say 420 or something (not that that was even a thing in the 40s, i’m just a preteen boy)


End file.
